It will never cease to amaze how little it takes t’
break that sang froid you believed impregnable;
& yet here are we, writhing in a whim o’ change
you’ve yet to get th’ measure of - that it’s taken
you prisoner y’ claimed a mockery; you are still
free, dressed in utterances of incredulousness,
worn sceptically maybe - tattered rags of your
former belief - but they’re there, just the same
And who is to say it is the new way - that you’ll
be placed in a penury of imprisonment; there’s
what you’d concede’s a raucous silence where
th’ legitimate donnybrook used to be, that is of
greater concern, either I’m abandoned or have
been transported away - sentenced overseas
Well, I’ve reached that age; at best craziness is
no defence, altho’ it graphically explains a lack
o’ energy t’ right wrong you’d simply agree is a
point of view, like the one you had on what it is
to be seventy two: and you’re there in th' dock
right now - pleading Not Guilty Due To Insanity
© 19 March 2018, I. D. Carswell
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